Just a Little Piece of This Dream
by oppisum
Summary: Business is booming for MJN Air, which would be great news if it didn't leave Martin with next to no time to be a man with a van. After being evicted Martin is faced with a choice: Stay with MJN and starve or move to work for his sister. But as is always the case, Douglas has a plan. A plan which involves a captain living out of his first officer's spare room. Martin/Douglas
1. Bristol!

**Just a Little Piece of This Dream**

**Summary: Business is booming for MJN Air, which would be great news if it didn't leave Martin with next to no time to be a man with a van. After being evicted Martin is faced with a choice: Stay with MJN and starve or move to Bristol to work for his sister.**

**But as is always the case, Douglas has a plan.**

**A plan which in this case involves a captain living out of his first officer's spare room.**

**A/N: ****The title comes from**_**Be Like That**_**by 3 Doors Down. I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so here it is. Feel free to poke me if I don't update fast enough. Also, I really appreciate suggestion and corrections.**

**Chapter 1**

"Are you going to spit it out already, or are you going to just sit there looking dour for the remainder of the flight?"

Martin looked up blankly. "What?"

"You haven't uttered a single non-protocol related word this entire flight. Clearly something is – astonishingly – on your mind." Douglas said, letting the sarcasm cover up his genuine concern. "You didn't even put up a fight for the gruyere."

"Oh, right," the captain mumbled, looking away from his FO. "It's nothing."

The silence stretched for another quarter of an hour, punctuated only by the sounds of Arthur's puppet rendition of the last forty-five minutes of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. _Finally, Martin spoke, unable to take it any longer. "Actually, Douglas, there is something. As my first officer I feel that you have a right to know. Come Monday I'm handing in my resignation to Carolyn."

It took a great effort on Douglas's part not to let his shock and horror at the idea show through. "Why on Earth would you do that? Did somebody actually make you a better offer?"

"I- No, I haven't found another job flying, but my sister offered me a job at her restaurant in Bristol."

"But why? You love flying. In fact, you love flying more than is probably healthy for anyone over the age of twelve. You live in an attic and work as a man with a van just to do what you love."

"Yes, well, I'm no longer just a man _with _a van; I am now a man _in _a van."

"You're going to have to elaborate on that one if you expect it to make any sense."

Martin sighed and ran a hand over his face in an uncharacteristic display of physical exhaustion. "I was evicted. Three weeks ago. I was evicted from the cheapest form of housing legally available and am now living out of my van."

"How? Why?"

"You know how MJN has been quite busy as of late? Well, it's great for Carolyn, but it means that I no longer have time for my only source of income."

"You've survived this long."

"Douglas, you've seen me eat every meal I've had within the past week and a half. When presented with the choice of either food or petrol, I chose petrol because it was the option required to earn more money. Now, however, I have neither the funds for housing nor food nor petrol."

"Have you talked to Carolyn about this yet? If she knew she may find it in that frost-bitten heart of hers to choke up the money to pay you."

"There's no point. Why should she pay me? If she's going to pay someone to do this job, why not just hire a more experienced pilot and be done with it? In this economy there must be hundreds of competent pilots who would jump at the chance to get my job."

"You landed perfectly on one engine after that bird strike," Douglas pointed out. "Not many 'experienced' pilots can lay claim to that bragging right."

"Yes, and doesn't it occur to you as a bit odd that my best landing so far was the one I did on only one engine?" The younger man sighed deeply. "Besides, you should be happy; you'll probably get to be captain now."

"Martin, I meant what I said two years ago when I told you that it doesn't matter how many stripes you have on your arm as long you're happy – and I swear I will emphatically deny this if you ever dare to repeat it – but I would much rather have you around than have another bar on my epaulet."

Genuine shock momentarily eclipsed Martin's melancholy expression, and he opened his mouth as if to say something before closing it again and lapsing back into silence. Douglas wanted him around? Actually _wanted _to fly GERTI with him? Instead of making him feel better, this revelation only made his heart sink several hundred more meters. It was quit flying or starve, and his first officer's atypical sentimentality didn't change that.

Douglas for his part was entirely consumed with his own thoughts and unaware of his captain's internal monologue. He'd noticed it sometime after St Petersburg, the subtle shift in the dynamic of their relationship. Dealing with Martin's unique brand of idiocy had gone from being something of a chore to being what motivated him to go into work every morning, especially in the months since his most recent divorce. That in itself was a startling revelation, but what was more shocking still was the fact that he was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that his bumbling captain kept his job. Even now he was entertaining three different methods captain retention.

Because if there was one thing (of many, many things) Douglas Richardson was good at, it was coming up with a plan to save the day.

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. They Both Care More Than They Let On

**Chapter 2**

**A/N: Until told otherwise, I am working under the impression that Fitton is supposed to be somewhere near Coventry from the directions that have been given at various times.**

The best plan, Douglas decided, was the quickest. As he only had two days until Martin's intended resignation date, it seemed best to go with the option with the highest probability of success in the least amount of time.

He made sure to act normal as he made his way off the plane, wilfully avoiding any hoovering there was to be done just as he would on any other occasion. He walked to the car park, got in his Lexus, and exited the airfield like normal, but instead of making a right at the main road and heading back towards town, Douglas took the left, going the exact opposite direction of how he needed to travel to get home.

Roughly a year and a half ago Carolyn finally got sick of Arthur managing to lock his keys in the house and hid a spare. Arthur, fearful that he would forget where it was hidden, had in turn told Douglas the location in case of emergencies. And this, Douglas reasoned, qualified as an emergency.

It took less than a minute for him to locate the, quote, "gnome with the little green hat and eyes like David Bowie", retrieve the key, and unlock the front door. Pacifying Snooperdoop, however, took slightly longer.

Seven minutes and one slightly-more-ripped-than-it-used-to-be trouser leg later, he sat behind Carolyn's desk, thumbing through the various receipts and reports there. He was midway through MJN's financial report for last quarter when an exasperated sigh emanated from the doorway of the office. "Whatever it is, I'm not talking about it until you get out of my chair and get your feet off my desk."

"Ah, Carolyn, how lovely to see you," Douglas said, looking up and effecting a look of polite surprise.

"Mum!" Arthur's voice echoed down the hall. "Shall I phone the police and tell them that the burglars stole Douglas's car too?"

A longsuffering sigh escaped Carolyn's lips. "Arthur, it _is_ Douglas."

"Oh," he said, sticking his head into the room around his mother's shoulder. "But why would Douglas want to burgle us?"

"As he is currently sifting through the spending ledgers for MJN, I highly doubt he is here to do anything more than be a colossal prat. Now please, go find some way to entertain yourself while I get rid of our intruding airline pilot." With that she shut the office door and turned back to Douglas. "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask yet."

"Judging by the papers you've spread out across my desk, you're going to ask for a raise. The answer is no."

"And what if I told you the raise isn't for me?"

"As Arthur already has his food, clothing, and shelter provided for him by my hands, I feel no guilt whatsoever in declining to increase _his _pay," she said, plucking the papers from Douglas's fingers and shoving them back into their folder.

"This is about Martin, Carolyn."

"You never seemed to have any qualms about his lack of salary before now."

"Yes, well, I think you'll find that before now he could still afford food and rent."

Resigning herself to the fact that this wasn't going to be as short of a conversation as she would have liked – read: nonexistent – Carolyn sharply prodded her first officer in the ribs with the folder until she could reclaim her seat behind the desk.

"You know that I can't, Douglas."

"On the contrary, I know that you can. Those financial reports I was just perusing only served to confirm what I have suspected for the last three months: MJN in is now in the green."

"Yes, for the first time in five years we're making more money than we're losing, every bit of which is going to pay off the debt collectors circling GERTI like a pack of veracious hounds."

"Let me put this to you another way: Martin has been evicted from his flat – if, indeed, an attic in student housing can be called that – and has now proven that, yes, man can subsist on catered flight meals alone."

"Do you- Do you mean to tell me," Carolyn said feebly, her expression reflecting the mingled horror and dismay that Douglas felt, "That he's been- That he hasn't-"

"-Had anything to eat within the last week that you have not provided for him?" Douglas ventured. "Yes, that is precisely what I mean to tell you."

"But why hasn't he – or you for that matter – told me about this?"

"I'm telling you now, aren't I? Anyhow, I only just found out today myself. For his part, I would surmise that is had something to do with a desire to retain what tatters of pride he still possesses. Besides that, he seems to be under the impression that you'd sooner fire him than pay him a penny. I also think it wise to tell you that he intends to resign in two days. And no, before you ask, no other company has been quite brave enough to offer him a position flying. He intends to give up being s pilot and move to Bristol to work for his sister rather than see what kills in first, lack of food or sleeping in an unheated van with winter edging ever closer."

Carolyn put her face in her hands and uttered a muffled noise of desperation. "Douglas, you know I'd pay the boy if I could. I'm just not sure if I can and still keep the debt collectors at bay. MJN could slip back into the red at any week now. I'm not doing this out of spite. Arthur, God help him, is my son, and far be it from me to claim another with an almost equal capacity for stupidity and mayhem, but heaven help me, in three and a half years time I have come to think of Martin something of an adopted child."

"Not so frost-hearted after all, are we, Carolyn?"

"I spent the first two years trying to keep him confined to the role of family pet, but much like you, he somehow wormed his way up the family hierarchy."

A sardonic smile quirked Douglas's lips. "I'm not supposed to be his brother, I hope."

"No. You're that strange man that everybody calls uncle even though they can't rightly remember how they're related to him. Or, for that matter, _if _they're related to him. But he always has the best jokes and gets the rest of the family out of trouble, so they keep inviting him to family holidays all the same."

"I'm flattered," he said dryly. "And as the uncle with a plan, might I suggest something?"

Carolyn made a 'go on' gesture, the tiredness and worry in her eyes for once reflecting her age.

"Until such time as you can afford to pay him a reasonable pilot's salary, give him one fifth of mine."

"A fifth. How generous. He can buy a packet of Hobnobs."

"Further more," Douglas said, continuing as if he hadn't heard. "You will under no condition tell him where said money came from. Say you found it on the pavement for all I care, just don't tell him it's coming from me."

"Douglas, as ingenious as your schemes always turn out to be, I feel compelled to point out that a fifth of your salary is hardly enough to pay for food, much less petrol and rent."

"That would be where the other half of my plan comes in."

"If you suggest – even for one moment – that I let Martin move in with me, I will slap you. He's like a son to me, which is exactly why I don't want him here. I already have one live-in child' I do _not _need a second."

"I would never advocate something so cruel. Asking Martin to live with _you _fulltime is past even what I would stoop to." As Douglas rose from his char, the gaze he fixed his employer spoke volumes about his own concern for his co-pilot. "Make sure to have him arrive early enough tomorrow to discuss his pay increase before he decided to do something even more drastic than moving to _Bristol_."

Carolyn's eyes were trained on the ceiling as her pilot left, leaving her oblivious to the second man hovering in the doorway until he spoke.

"Mum?" The voice held none of its usual enthusiasm, instead lingering on a faint note of uncertainty. "Is everything alright?"

"Not really. I've got a homeless pilot and a scheming first officer. But thankfully, if Douglas is to be taken at his word, the scheming part will soon cancel out the homeless part."

"So does that mean that I won't get to share a room with Skip? I was hoping we could get bunk beds."

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. It's Either You Or My Divorce Lawyer

**Chapter 3**

Martin yawned widely as he entered the portacabin; this whole lack-of-a-bed thing was starting to wear on him. If he couldn't find some coffee within the next 45 minutes, he might just have to swallow his pride and ask Douglas to take the takeoff. But ugg, coffee on an empty stomach sounded appalling. Then again, coffee had to be better than nothing, right?

A sharp voice broke through his caffeine-filled daydreams. "Martin, a word."

"Carolyn, whatever it is, I didn't break it. Or, at least, I don't remember breaking it."

"You're not in trouble. Quite the opposite, actually. You've managed _not _to massacre the trip budget for seventeen straight flights, which means that in an unprecedented turn of events, I can now afford to pay you. Not very much, mind you, but any money is still better than your current pay grade."

"That's very kind of you, but-"

"'But' what? 'But' you enjoy flying for the pure uncompensated fun, and getting paid will ruin it? 'But' you prefer donating your time to the charitable cause of MJN Air? 'But' nothing, Captain Crieff. Smile, shut up, take your newfound salary, and get on that decrepit tin can we call an aeroplane."

Before he had a chance to utter more than a pitiful "muh" noise, Carolyn turned on her heel and stomped off.

~oOo~

That Martin was bursting to say something was evident from the moment Douglas entered the flight deck. Somehow – and he was sure it took no small amount of effort on his captain's part – the younger man held his tongue until they were off the ground and Arthur was firmly occupied in the galley attempting to open a can sans a can opener. "How on earth am I supposed to resign now? She's just offered to pay me a salary. A _salary!_" the younger man said as if it was an entirely foreign concept – which for him it probably was.

"I would think," Douglas said with deliberate slowness, "That getting paid to fly would rather solve your problem."

It wasn't so much that he believed this statement held any truth as that it was part of the act. Feigning ignorance was paramount for the next step of his master scheme – not to mention his reputation.

"She's paying me, not paying me _very much. _The attic where I used to live has already been rented back out" –another fact that Douglas was well aware of– "and I can't guarantee that I'll be able to find rent that cheep again, at least not before I fall deathly ill from sleeping in an unheated van during winter."

"Oh, I'm sure something will come up."

"Right, and Arthur understand how to play charades properly before this century is out."

"No, no. I know you'll find something," the older man said, no longer stifling his smug grin.

"Okay, what is it? What's your plan?"

"However do you mean?"

"Oh, come off it. You always have a plan. Unless you just enjoy tormenting me, you have something up your sleeve or you wouldn't be smirking like that."

"Let there be no misunderstanding on one point: I enjoy tormenting you tremendously. I do not, however, enjoy seeing you truly miserable. There's a difference between needling you on a day-to-day basis and kicking you when you're so far down that you could rival Death Valley. What would you say if I told you there's a place for you to stay absolutely free that doesn't have four wheels or communal sleeping quarters?"

Martin's blue-green eyes widened. "That would be bril- spectacular! How? W-where?"

"About ten minutes outside Fitton in my spare bedroom."

A disbelieving furrow appeared between the young captain's brows. "Say again."

"You need a non-mobile bed to sleep in – and bed period, come to that – and I now live in a fairly large house all on my own. It seems like a reasonable compromise."

"Reasonable?! Douglas, you can barely stand to be locked in a flight deck with me during working hours. How do you think you'll be able to tolerate living under the same roof as me? Not to mention that as I told you, I don't have enough money to pay decent rent."

"Unless you cost me more in utilities than an ex-wife who took forty minute showers, I don't intend to make you pay rent. My car is paid off, my mortgage is low, and I don't have any other major debts. As for the prospect of seeing you outside of work, while I will admit that living _and _working with you does seem a bit more than the recommended daily dose of Captain Crieff– How do I put this? You can be petty, obnoxious, and occasionally capable of winning the Olympic gold for ineptness, but you've also proven yourself capable of remarkable levels of ingenuity, pluck, and – in very rare circumstances indeed – skill as a pilot. God only knows how, but somehow I've come to consider you a friend. Some might go so far as to call you my closest friend."

"Are- Are you calling me your best friend?"

"As it's between you, Arthur, Carolyn, and my divorce lawyer, I would have to concede that you win the title be default. Anyhow, you're the only one I would consider living with for any length of time."

"Er, thank you. I think. Even so, I don't know if it's a very good idea."

A dramatic sigh escaped Douglas's lips. "Must you make me say it? _Must you?_ Very well; Martin Crieff, I do not want you to move to Bristol. There. Satisfied?"

The red-haired captain did a spot-on impression of a gulping fish deprived of water, which his first officer took as a yes and chose to steamroll right over any impending statements. "Besides, it's a rather large house. Large enough, in fact, for it to qualify as pathetic for a middle-aged divorcé to be living in it by himself."

That, and Douglas had never really been one for living on his own, as proven by three failed marriages and the parade of lover that always marched out between them. Always, that is, until now. Oh, he was sure that he could still manage, if not a full parade, at least a fair sized marching band, but he found that for once he didn't want to. What would be the point? His first marriage had fallen apart thanks to the personality changes that inevitably immerged once people moved past the age of eighteen. Idealism faded, reality set in, and, abracadabra, he and Ella found that they couldn't stand one another. The next two, however, came to abrupt, breaks-squealing ends when Doris and Helena left him for other men. And this, he though disconsolately, must say something about either A) his taste in women or B) himself. He wasn't keen to test which it was with hypothetical marriage number four.

"If I agree to this," Martin said with evident reluctance, "How will this work?"

"I'm not giving you a curfew, if that's what you're asking. I'll give you Helena's old key, and you can come and go as you please, just so long as you don't come banging in like a heard of Arthurs at three in the morning."

"When would I..." 'Move in' sounded a pit presumptuous. "Show up?"

Douglas looked theatrically at his watch. He'd taken the precaution of tidying up and putting fresh sheets on the spare bed that morning. "About fifteen minutes after you're done helping hoover GERTI, I'd say, as I'm guessing everything you own consists of the horse you road in on and a suitcase with a couple changes of clothes in it."

There were also a few model aeroplanes, but there was also no way the younger man was going to own up to it. He took a long breath. "Alright." He held up one finger emphatically. "But only until I find rent I can afford. A few weeks at the most."

"As Sir wishes."

Martin groaned and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling of the flight deck. This was going to be an interesting few weeks. Interesting, it should be noted here, was in italics in his mind. _Interesting_.

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Other People's Showers

**Chapter 4**

**A/N: Just a heads up, but updates may be a bit sporadic during October. Please don't think I've abandoned you; I just have a bunch of college applications due in early November. I fully intend to keep going on this story.**

**Also, I think his chapter may reflect my mild obsession with Radio 1 and Radio 4. That's actually what I was listening to while I wrote the latter part of this. **

This was a bad idea, full Stop, Martin thought as he climbed the steps to Douglas's front door at seven that night. His breathing was elevated, and sweat had broken out on his palms. He shouldn't be this nervous. This was Douglas's house for God's sake, not Buckingham Palace. He'd passed it hundreds of times on pickups for MJN. Then again, _it was Douglas's house. _Douglas's house where he was going to be living for the foreseeable future. Oh God.

The young captain was on the verge of doing an about-face and fleeing back to his van when the door before him opened. "Wavering on the precipice of indecision as ever, I see," Douglas said with knowing smirk as he leaned against the doorframe and wiped his hands on a dish towel.

"I was not!" It came out far too defensive to both of their ears for either of them to believe it for a millisecond.

The older pilot made a noncommittal "mmh" noise and took Martin's suitcase with the air of a man who knew he'd just won before stepping aside. "In you go."

"Thanks," Martin mumbled as he was ushered into a warm kitchen full of high-end appliances. The multitude of stone surfaces clearly got a fair bit of use, as attested to by the cutting board full of half-chopped basil. It could safely be said that it smelt brilliant in here thanks to whatever was in the pot on the stove. The kitchen flowed seamlessly into a combined dining/living area with a tall wooden table at one end and a leather sofa and flat screen TV at the other. What of the house he could see was decorated in an inviting and lived-in style but still an expensive one none the less. All in all, Martin felt about as out of place as a pigeon at a party for South American Parrots.

For his part Douglas pretended not to notice the other man's evident discomfort. "I'll give you the grand tour, shall I?" he said, reaching over to turn down the temperature of the simmering pot.

As they passed through the living room, Martin noticed that the large black bookshelves smattered there about held an odd mix of DVDs, Blu-Rays, CDs, records, and books. The radio cum record player sitting on an end table hummed softly with the sounds of Radio 3. Gee, the captain thought sarcastically, who would have guessed that Douglas would be a Radio 3 person? Admittedly 35 was a bit old to be listening to Radio 1 with the religious dedication he did, but still, could Douglas be more predictable?

Down the hall the older man gestured lackadaisically at the doors that stood half-open at irregular intervals. "Bathroom, my room, room that's nominally an office but in practice is just a place where old junk goes to die – or, at least, live out the rest of its existence relatively undisturbed – and your room."

Following after the other man, Martin saw that it was a fair-sized room plainly furnished with a side table, dresser, and bed. Douglas placed the battered suitcase he carried on the olive green duvet, and said, "It's not the Ritz, but it's still better than what Carolyn puts us in."

The modicum of tact he had made Martin refrained from saying that it was nearly as large as his entire flat had been. "It's great. Thank you again, Douglas."

"Martin, thank me again and you can sleep in the garage tonight. I didn't invite you to stay with me so I could hear how wonderfully generous I am every four minutes. You may as well unpack your things, considering you'll be here for a while. After that you can have free reign of the bathroom, music, and DVDs."

With that Douglas walked out of the room, leaving Martin staring slack-jawed at the door. So what, he was just being left here to unpack? He ground into motion with painful slowness, unsure of what to do. Just as he reached to unzip his suitcase, the first officer's head appeared around the doorframe. "By the way, if there's anything in that dresser that looks like it doesn't belong anymore, just put it in an empty box from the office and leave it there." A pained expression crossed his face. "My apologies. I would have done it myself, but, well, you understand."

No, he really didn't, Martin wanted to say as Douglas disappeared again. That left the other man even more confused than he'd been before. Shrugging it off, he grabbed a handful of clothes from his bag and opened a dresser drawer.

Which was apparently already occupied by clothes.

Women's clothes.

Oh.

_Oh._

Some of Helena's things. This must be why Douglas had just left them. It hit Martin then that even though his first officer acted like nothing had changed, he must still be in some serious pain, even nearly a year later. A pang of guilt shot through the captain; how many time had he ever bothered to ask Douglas how he was doing and been looking for more than a polite answer?

Making up his mind to be a bit more considerate of what Douglas might not be saying, Martin crept back down the hall to the office and grabbed a mostly empty cardboard box which appeared to hold the forgotten remnants of Helena's stamp on the bathroom. It took roughly fifteen minutes to empty the drawers and closet of 'anything that looked like it didn't belong anymore'. The box was carefully resealed and left in the most inconspicuous place he could find in the whirlwind of an office. He toyed with the idea of tossing one of the gaudy Christmas jumpers on the floor over it but decided against it.

Martin put his hands on his hips and let out a long breath. God this felt strange, wandering around Douglas's house picking up after his ex-wife. A glance at the clock on the bedside table told him it was nearly eight. Normally he would take a shower about this time, so... Did he ask permission? That sounded like a quick way to get put in garage. Douglas had said that he could have free reign of the bathroom, and it followed that that would include that shower. He was over thinking this. Maybe his first officer was right in saying that he was indecisive.

Annoyed at his own indecision, he grabbed the small bag containing his toiletries made his way to the bathroom. Ugg. He hated using other people's showers. It was nothing against the people themselves but just the awkwardness of trying to figure out how to work the temperature controls and wondering where to put your bottle of shampoo because they always seemed to have every available bloody surface filled with seven different kinds of soap that you knew they couldn't actually be using. It always felt awkward on a level he had trouble expressing verbally. There was a voice in the back of his head that sounded remarkably like Douglas's telling him that he had better get used to it.

**Thanks for reading!**


End file.
